


I Am What I Do in the Dark

by Scarlet_Cross



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Character Turned Into Vampire, F/M, Gen, Matty is irish as fuck and you can pry that from my cold dead hands, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Vampires, lots of guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:56:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16935363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Cross/pseuds/Scarlet_Cross
Summary: He always knew he had the Devil in him, becoming a demon just made it harder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I want more fics where Matt is a vampire  
> Me@Myself: K cool then write some  
> Me: ...Shit you right

The memory of Ireland was a hazy soup in his mind. He could remember green fields and long nights in the cold of winter when women broke into song and old men told stories to terrify and delight. He could feel the dirty and uneven cobblestone streets that were falling apart under his feet as he and his father walked into town for springtime festivals and markets. He remembered the sense of community they shared as everyone gathered around a pot of still warm potatoes to eat. Greedy hands pulling and grabbing while mouths smiled and laughed as all the people in his village ate. Matthew could also remember how the food they ate slowly shrank and shrank, until it was almost nothing. He remembered a gnawing hunger, clawing through his belly. He could still see his father’s desperation as they were out in the fields together, picking through plot after plot of blighted potatoes, ultimately finding nothing salvageable. He could remember his mother, a faint warmth that laid dying on the only bed in their little cottage. How her life trickled away. She was starving and sick from the same hunger that plagued him, his father, and their whole country. All the women in the village keened for days on end when they buried their dead. In the final days before Matthew and his father left they always had dead to bury, the keening was never ending.

The boat ride to the new world had been terrifying at first. The water rushed under him as old stories of mermaids told by drunken sailors in the town tavern swirled around his mind. They were packed tightly into a cabin with 3 other families from his village. A few of them had children that were close to his age, so he could play and laugh with them all day. They raced around the boat and got yelled at in English by the crew and wealthier passengers. His father whispered in Gaelic to him in quite moments. There were promises of a new life, a better house, good food, and all new luxuries that they would praise God for every Sunday at church. When Matthew saw the small, misty figure of the Statue of Liberty on the horizon for the first time he was almost vibrating with joy. That faded fast though, as they arrived at Ellis Island and were detained for several more weeks still. His father was allowed out into New York before him, looking for work and somewhere to live. Matthew spent weeks alone on the Island, only an old woman who had sailed over from the old world with them left to look after him. The people were overflowing and stacked into the buildings. Everyone slept 2 or 3 to a bunk, it smelt bad all the time and Matthew was always surrounded by languages he didn’t speak. There were many who spoke his native tongue of Gaelic, but all the immigration officers would speak was English. Matthew was a smart boy and he managed to learn a few English words before his father came back for him.

The building his father had found for them to live in was a tenement building caked with soot into thin wood that the winter winds blew through like the walls were slatted. It was meager and dirty, but for a time all was good and blessed. His father’s promises on the boat over weren’t wholly true; they were still poor, but at least they weren’t starving as badly. New York wasn’t like Ireland, where they lived and breathed with the families in their village, but it grew to feel like home.  Hell’s Kitchen, the neighborhood his father had found for them, was predominantly Irish. The church they attend for Mass every Sunday had a priest who gave his sermons in Gaelic, so the whole congregation could understand. The pub on the street corner where his father went to drink, had musicians who played Irish folk music. Matthew could sit on his father’s lap and look and listen as lively couples danced to the music of their homeland. In the alley behind their tenement building Matthew peaked through closed curtains as his father battled in an Irish style as well. Bare knuckle boxing, shirtless, and feet rooted in the spot. He took swing after swing like he had the Devil in him.

The school Matthew eventually attended was the only time he had to leave the safety of Hell’s Kitchen. Two winter’s had come and gone since their arrival to New York and the time had come when he needed to go to a new school for older children. With his father working in a factory in the Garment District, the money he made on the side for boxing bets, and Matthew running a paper route after school they had enough money his father sent him to a Catholic school in Midtown. The nuns could be cruel and kind in turns, but he quickly learned he was no longer allowed to speak Gaelic on school grounds. The few times he tried it his knuckles were rapt with a ruler. He also grew to realize just how poor they really were. In Hell’s Kitchen all of the children his age ran about with holes in their trousers and soot on their cheeks from days spent playing in the streets. In this new school, the hems of his hand sew jackets and perpetually patched trousers labeled him as a target to be picked on. The first day he came home with blood on his knuckles and a split lip his father made him spend hours on his knees praying for God to bless him with the virtue of patience. Jack Murdock also found his way to church that evening. He needed confession, because the Murdock boys had the Devil in them, and he had sinned in passing that along to his son.

Fighting in the new world didn’t have the same rules as it did in the old world, his father explained to him. It wasn’t just about settling a grudge or upholding your manhood, Americans wanted entertainment and fighting gave them that. Where there was entertainment, there was money to be made. Where there was money, there were people who wanted a piece of your winnings. Not all the men who came from Ireland were good Irish Catholics, some were bad men and worse, some were mobsters. Cash or a pound of flesh was the deal Matthew’s father had struck with them, and when the day came he couldn’t provide them cash they took a pound of flesh. Battling Jack Murdock always assumed that when the day came he couldn’t pay, it would be his head on the chopping block. When he saw the baseball bat connect with the back of Matthew’s head, he prayed to God he would never be so stupid again.

The world was different for Matthew after that. He was plunged into darkness, blind but still alive by the grace of God. He spent the first few weeks knocking around their apartment, helping where he could with chores and only leaving the house for weekly church clinging tightly to his father as a guide. After he learned every crack and corner in the house, he managed to make it outside more often. The sounds and smells of the world felt different now, fully bodied and almost colorful on their own, even without sights to accompany them. He couldn’t make it out as far as his old catholic school in Mid Town yet, but he learned to tap his way around Hell’s Kitchen with a walking stick aiding his senses. He found which streets he could cross alone and which ones he needed to ask for help with. He used the smells coming from bakeries, factories, and restaurants around the neighborhood to pinpoint exactly where he was if he ever got lost. After only a year he could make his way through town to the Frenchman's music shop all the way on the edge of the neighborhood to do light chores and be taught braille in exchange. 

There was also the matter of learning how to to do things with only the aid of touch. On the nights his father came home from rougher and rougher boxing matches, his face and hands were split and bleeding. When they didn’t have money for a doctor, which was often, Matthew got out their little sewing kit. With needles curved especially to make sewing skin easier, he patched up his father’s punching bag skin. The two curled up together on those nights, Matthew fell asleep to Jack whispering whiskey laden apologies in his ear.

It was on one of the nights like this when everything in Matthew’s life changed again. He woke alone, his father’s side of the bed cold and empty. The sound that woke him in the quiet of night was the shattering of glass echoing through the apartment. There was only one place in their rooms with glass and that was the windows in the front room that overlooked the street outside. He felt his way out into the front room, everything in the house silent in sleep with only the ambient noise of the city leaking in from the outside. The city life got louder as he got closer to the front room and as he ran his hand along a shattered paine of glass his thought process had been confirmed. Now, the only question was what broke the glass. He felt around on the ground for a brick or a rock. It wasn’t exactly common, but surely not unheard of for teenagers from other neighborhoods to come into Hell’s Kitchen in the night. They were tourists finding joy in smashing street lights and throwing rocks at second story tenements like theirs. What Matthew ended up finding on the floor wasn’t a rock, but something warm and thick oozing across their rough hewn floors. The liquid wasn’t deep, but it spread out wide and Matthew knew exactly what it was. The texture was exactly like what had been on his fingers not hours before when he patched up his father. He was stepping in blood.

He took in a sharp breath as he stumbled to the side and tripped over something. His hands flew down to feel at the lump he tripped on and his fingers caught on flesh and fabric. He felt his way up to the figure’s face and found his father’s stubble and eyebrow he had stitched a day before. He let himself have a small sigh of relief, his father had stumbled drunk out of bed before. He must have been doing the same thing as Matthew, investigating the broken glass. The blood must be from a cut where he stumbled and fell, and now he was just unconscious. 

“Dad,” he said softly, shaking his shoulder to wake him.

There was no response. 

“Dad come on, we gotta go back to bed,” again he tried, shaking his father a little harder and calling a little louder.

Still no response. 

“Stick, I think the kid’s blind,” an unfamiliar voice called from across the room.

Startled, Matthew scrambled back. He latched onto his father’s slumped form for protection. Even though his was blind, Matthew still usually had a good idea of where people were around him. He had gotten nothing from this stranger. The voice, when it had spoken, sounded only a few feet away from him, yet he hadn’t heard anything. This new voice was invisible, not only that they were a stranger, a threat, in his home.

“No shit,” another voice called. It sounded gravelly with age and father away, but he could hear footsteps creaking down the hall towards the front room. “I knew that when he got out of bed and walked out here.”

“No way,” a third new voice called, close to him and yet again invisible. “You’re just being a smart ass.”

“You didn’t hear him stomp down the hall like a blind fool?” It was the aged voice again, now in the front room with the rest of them. “I don’t need to see him hanging onto a dead man with his throat ripped out to know the kid can’t see shit.”

He felt it as his heart skipped a beat at those words. Dead man. With his throat ripped out. Matthew’s fingers ghosed up from where he was gripping onto his father’s shirt to his neck. There was no prickly stubble, or fresh shaven skin, only slick and rapidly cooling blood. He didn’t, couldn’t believe his hands, he pressed down searching for skin underneath but met only corded muscle and stabbing bone shards. He forgot about the unfamiliar voices then and let out a wail that would put all the keening women of Ireland to shame. 

“Stop that,” the gravelly voice commanded.

All at once a calm flooded through Matthew’s body and his crying ceased.

“Good, now come here.” It commanded and Matthew got to his feet.

“Stick, I know what you’re thinking, but what are we going to do with a blind kid?” One of the other voices called.

Ignoring the question, the Stick, the one with the gravelly voice, took Matthew’s chin in his hand. “Were you born blind?”

“No,” Matthew wanted to rip his head away from the cold hand holding him, but no matter how hard he grit his teeth he couldn’t move an inch.

“How did you become blind?”

“My father is… was a boxer. He had a deal with the Irish mob, and when he couldn’t pay one day they came for me.” Matthew balled his fists as he spoke, but he still felt that invisible prison of calm holding him steady.

“Son of a boxer,” Stick mused. “And a fighter yourself,” the hand removed itself from his chin to come down and grab Matthew’s scarred and scabbed knuckles. “I think you’ll do well.”

Before Matthew could ask what he meant, or even think of what to say the veil of calm lifted. He felt his sorrow, anger, and pain all come rushing back and it was overwhelming. He opened his mouth to cry out, something, anything to release the tension, but again his world turned on a dime. A cutting, and sharp pain exploded through his neck and ripped out through his whole body. Panic flooded his senses as everything came rushing into sharp focus. A soft tongue lapped at the wound on his neck as his mind began to go dark.

This man was a vampire.

His father was killed by a vampire.

He was being killed by a vampire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you guys who are interested in this story! This is really more of a fun little piece, so updates will be sporadic, but I hope you enjoy this one.

The world swirled slowly back into consciousness as Matthew woke up chilled to the bone and with his neck pulsing in time to his heart. He sat up slowly, trying to place where he was in their tenament. The feeble warmth of the sun falling on his skin told him it was day time, but he was cold, far too cold for a normal winter day in their rooms. It was also too quiet, the traffic and chattering conversation sounded far away and foggy. To make matters even worse, his neck throbbed and itched. Matthew lifted his hand to massage out his cramped neck from sleeping wrong when his fingertips brushed against a soft cotton pad. His other hand flew up to his neck, feeling over the entirety of the bandage. Then, the night before all clicked back into place.

“If you go ripping that dressing off I’m not going to fix it again,” the gravelly voice of Stick rang out to his left. “And if you rip those stitches no else here knows how to fix them so you’ll probably bleed out.”

Matthew scrambled away from the direction of the voice, “I know how, I can stitch myself up.” He spat out, grasping at any verbal defense he could against this vampire.

“Medical knowledge? That’s pretty impressive for a blind kid.” 

“Yeah well, there’s a lot of things blind people can do. I’m not helpless.” Matthew could feel gravel under his palms and confirmed his suspicions that they weren’t inside his building anymore.

Stick laughed at that, “Shit kid, I know that. I’m blind too and I’m counting on you not being helpless.”

He froze at that, “How could you be… how do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“I’m sitting out here in the daylight with you aren’t I? You think any self respecting vampire with good vision would be out here getting their eyes torched by the sun if they weren’t already gone?”

Matthew considered it for a moment before asking, “I thought vampires were unholy and that’s why they couldn’t go out in the day.”

“The things these churches are teaching you kids these days,” Stick sighed. “Look kid, I’m sitting out here with you on this fine day because we’re going to be starting a long partnership and I wanted to start it off right.”

“You started it off wrong when you killed my father and bit me!”

“Neither me or my people killed your father and biting you is irrelevant because that’s not the only time you’re going to be bit, just the first.” Stick started nonchalantly. “Kid, you’re blind, homeless, famililess, and alone. No factory will hire you and you’ll be a beggar, starving or dead in a month. Or you can come work for me.”

“Work?” Matthew croaked, surprised at the sudden turn in Stick’s words.

“I’ll give you shelter, food, and even teach you a trade and all I ask in return is you run some small errands for me and some of your blood from time to time.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Matthew started.

Even as he said it he began to feel a small draw in his stomach. Everything Stick had said about him was right. He couldn’t think of a single job he could get that he could live off. He had no one that could help him. All their family was back in the old country and his father had had friends, but none who could support another mouth to feed. There was always the mercy of the church, but even they couldn’t support him indefinitely. 

“I know you’re a smart kid,” Stick pulled himself up from his seated position and Matthew could hear his footsteps crunch on the gravel towards him. “What do you say?”

“This isn’t a trick? Or mind control?” Matthew prodded.

“Just a fair deal.”

God help him, “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Stick said helping him to his feet. A guiding hand found its way to his lower back and ushered him forward.

…

There were many things Matthew came to learn in his remaining life as a human. He learned Stick was a man of persuasion, and not just because he held the ability to manipulate minds. The treaties, alliances, deals and pacts Stick had built and bartered for cast a long shadow over Manhattan, and Matthew was tasked with the upkeep of them. No one looked twice at a blind child wandering down the side streets and back allies, even if he was entering abandoned buildings or carrying odd packages. Matthew had to learn to map the streets of Manhattan, just like when he was first blinded in Hell’s Kitchen, only this time on a much larger scale. The underpass Stick’s coven resided in was on the tip of the island, a stone’s throw from the Bronx, and some of the places he needed to go were as far downtown as Midtown. Most of the errands he ran were for mundane things. Visiting shops only open in the day to buy miscellaneous items or eating at a morning cafe to pass along a message to another human. Other errands weren’t so normal. Paying an undertaker in Harlem for a small stockpile of human blood and dropping off bribes to police precincts to look the other way at any human corpses found with their throats torn out were among his more nefarious errands. 

Matthew also came to learn how to fight. Not like the sloppy schoolyard fights of his youth or even knock out, back alley boxing like his father, but how to inflict real damage. Stick taught him how to move in the twilight hours before any of the others woke up for the night. Over time he learned to control his body with deadly accuracy, catching punches, snapping bones, and tearing flesh. When night fell full and heavy and the other sun shy coven member finally arose, Matthew would spar with a different partner until he collapsed in exhaustion.

“Listen,” Stick would whisper to him in the midst of a fight. “Hear their next move before they make it. Count their steps, learn their dance, lead the dance.” 

Stick kept well on his promise to teach him a trade, Stick taught Matthew to be a soldier. 

On the nights Matthew was deemed the winner of his sparring, he was allowed to fall easily into bed and drift peacefully to sleep. On the nights when he lost, the victorious vampire would take him by the jaw and bite mercilessly into his neck, claiming their prize. In his youth, Matthew went to bed most nights drained in more ways than one. As the years passed and his skills improved and became refined, the wounds on his neck healed into thick scars where the skin was rarely broken. In manhood Matthew had won the right to keep his blood and left his sparring partner for the evening to limp off and hunt a different meal.

“You did good with that one Stick,” Matthew heard an unfamiliar voice whisper in the silence of post fight. He had just knocked his opponent for the evening to the ground with the satisfying  _ thud _ of it still ringing in his ears.

“I’ve been known to do that from time to time Elektra.” Stick retorted nonchalantly.

“Let me play with him, please,” the new voice, Elektra begged.

Wiping the sweat from his face, Matthew turned towards the spectating voices, “I can decide who I want to spar with.”

“Oh,” Elektra giggled, a note of genuine surprise in her voice, “So you  _ do _ want to play?”

Rather than answering her, Matthew took another step towards Elektra. He took on a defensive stance, arms raise and ready to attack or defend. He listened for Elektra’s next movement, if she was human he’d hear her easily, but more than likely she was a vampire like the rest of them. He’d have to wait until she got into her rhythm, till she was breathing harder, tired and landing her feet heavily making them easy to trace. Her attack came just as planned, he took it on. Dodged the next, made a jab, and shuffled back. The dance began to take shape, the push and pull of energy that dance between them. He knew exactly where she would be and he braced his body and made to kick her what should be right in the ribs. But his foot collided with nothing but air. Dumbfounded, Matthew paused, searching for her. Anything he could track, her breathing, her steps, the smell of sweat on her skin, but came back with nothing

“Learn their dance, lead the dance,” Elektra’s sickly sweet voice whispered into his ear from behind.

Before Matthew could react arms wrapped around his neck and held him tight. He couldn’t breathe and any move he tried to make to get out of the choke hold was useless on Elektra’s iron grip. She lowered him to his knees in submission as his body weakened and his attacks ceased. Just at he could feel his consciousness begin to flicker, she released him. Matthew took lungfull after lungfull of air into his body. He was utterly disorientated in his oxygen deprived brain, so when two small hands found their way onto his face he was surprised at their gentleness. They both roamed down his jawline to his neck, on stopped there as the other traveled down and found a resting place on his chest right over his racing heart. The soft, warm mouth that found its way to his neck was expected, but the quick kiss and playful nip it left wasn’t.

“Oh, you will be so fun to play with,” Elektra promised in a sultry, deep voice.

Years later one of the last things Matthew would learn in his human life was that he loved Elektra Natchios.


	3. Chapter 3

“Who is she?” Matthew asked during one of their twilight training sessions.

Stick tossed him a pair of nunchucks, “I found her in an empty village in Greece a few decades ago. She’s like you, we had a deal. She ran errands for me and I trained her.”

The causal explanation to a large question was all Matthew got before Stick made the first move in the fight. Sick’s favorite method of teaching was jumping right into the action. If the weapon or technique was completely new, he might spend a night or two with basic instruction, but after that it was only sparring. The bruises and scrapes Matthew acquired were to be expected, there was no “taking it easy” in Stick’s vocabulary. The two would go head to head with the master offering occasional offering improvements and corrections to his student when he saw the need arise. It had been a frustrating teaching style to Matthew in his youth, but now with more than 20 years of this treatment he had gotten used to it.

“Did you feed from her too?” Matthew asked breathing hard as they were finishing up.

“No,” Stick replied as he put their weapons back into their box. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Why was it part of mine?”

Matthew could hear the smile in Stick’s next words, “You live and learn kid, and I learned you might have some more uses.”

“What about...” Matthew struggled to think of the right way to phrase it. “Did you turn her? Did she ask for it?”

Stick paused, he didn’t usually indulge in answering questions, but it must have been something him is voice. “When the time was right, yes I did.”

That made Matthew freeze with fear. Did Stick intend to turn him too? His mind raced with a million questions and filled with dread.

Before he could continue, a feminine and now familiar voice interrupted him, “He sure is the inquisitive one, now isn’t he?”

Mopping his brow, Matthew turned to face Elektra. He expected to find her ready to spar with him again, but was caught off guard when he realized her voice was coming from a bench on the side of the room. How long had she been sitting there? Had she been watching them? Matthew couldn’t find her in rooms as well as other vampires. Over the years spent with Stick’s coven he had managed to train his senses to be sharper than most humans. Specifically, he had trained himself to find people and things to make up for his lack of sight. Humans were easy, they gave themselves away with everything they did, vampires were naturally more silent and took more effort to locate. Elektra though, she was invisible- when she wanted to be. 

“Do you want a rematch?” He asked.

“Rematch? Darling no, it’s play time.” She stood from her bench and Matthew could hear the flow and drag of a long dress whisper as she moved towards him. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Matthew paused in surprise for a moment. That wasn’t where he had expected this encounter to go. “Going out?”

“Yes, to a party, now go get dressed. I left a few suitable items in your room.”

With that she turned and walked out of the practice room with loud, measured foot steps. Each click of her heels on the floor signaled to Matthew that the conversation was over with no debate to be had. Somewhat reluctant, he made his way back to his room to find one of his better sets of trousers and a fine linen dress shirt laid out. An accompanying vest and suit jacket hung from one of the knobs on his dresser. For the most part Matthew didn’t have many occasions to dress up, tweed breeches and woolen shirts served him fine on his daily errands for Stick. As he finished putting on the evening coat he realized he didn’t even own a tie, and the overwhelming feeling that he was about to be utterly out of his element sat like a stone in his stomach. 

Elektra stood waiting for him in the foyer of their safe house. Based on his dress and her earlier indication they were going to a party, Matthew imagined Electra was dressed in a lavish evening gown. In his mind’s eye he could see her hair done up in ringlets and pulled high to be stacked on top of her head. She took his arm to walk out onto the street together, he felt the soft fur of a fine shawl and smooth evening gloves, and knew his suspicions were correct. They walked in silence for awhile, the growing winter chill in the blossoming night made the breath come out of Matthew’s mouth like a small cloud. The further downtown they went the more the image of the city lit up in Matthew’s mind. The bustle of men wrapped up in coats coming off factory shifts, the smells of women cooking lean winter dinners for their families, the  _ clip-clop _ of horses as they drew carriages of the wealthy, and the quiet hiss of gas lamps turning on as darkness fell heavier on the city.

“So tell me Matthew, what do you know of this bridge they are building, the one that connects Manhattan and Brooklyn.” Elektra asked.

“It’s, um, been under construction for awhile,” He stuttered, caught off guard by the question.

“Yes, I read about it in a newspaper on my voyage over.” She carried on “A cable suspension bridge is all the rage for the brightest minds in Paris.”

“You’ve been to Paris?” Matthew asked, shocked. Other than his inaugural trip to America, Matthew had never left the island of Manhattan. 

“Paris, Amsterdam, Rome, Athens, St Petersburg, there are many places I’ve been.” She answered with a playful tone.

“Why come to New York?”

Matthew could feel a slight falter in her walking pattern as he asked the question. Not nearly a pause, but enough to give away her moment of hesitation. “Stick has been a generous master, as I’m sure you know. He’s allowed me many freedoms, but now he’s called on my services, so here I am. And here we are.” 

The announcement signaled a change in their direction as Elektra stopped and turned them onto the walkway up to a small house. It stood alone from other buildings with a wrought iron fence surrounding it. On the porch Elektra turned to look him over one more time and let out a small hiss of displeasure. She adjusted his collar and coat cuffs before pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. Matthew couldn’t help but feel like a prized show pony as she hummed, finally pleased after finished with him.  Satisfied, Elektra reached out and tapped a series of short knocks on the heavy door. The door swung open and a man whose footsteps nearly echoed in Matthew’s ear, a human he immediately identified, showed them inside. The door man lead them to a parlor dimly lit by gaslight. A mix of other humans and vampires mingled amongst plush couches and chairs with the curtains pulled tight to keep any remaining sun light out.

“Elektra darling!” a female vampire cried as they entered the room. She hurried over and hugged Elektra.

The two women were swept up into a conversation, swapping gossip and stories to tell since they had seen eachother last. Matthew stayed at her side as Elektra drifted about the room talking to various other vampires. He recognized the voice or smell of most of them, they were associates he had met during his dealings on behalf of Stick. The others, the humans in the room, did not speak. They sat nervously fidgeting and restless and Matthew couldn’t help but think they seems so young, younger than himself by a decade or more for most of them. They were nearly children and he could practically smell the anxiety coming off them. 

Matthew knew the source of their anxiety and of course they had the right to be worried. He had never been to a party like this, but he had heard of them all too often. It was a dinner party of sorts. More established vampires would host them for those in high vampire society. They acted as a sort of status symbol. They had pleasantries in the parlor, played games after dinner, and of course a feast was served. All those young, warm bodies collected and dolled up by the host were served like a fine wine with the main course. 

Just as Matthew was beginning to contemplate how or even if he could help his fellow human dinner guests, another human servant came in to announce dinner was ready. Everyone made their way to the dining room, but the table was set for only half of the guests in attendance. All of the vampires took a seat, leaving the humans standing in a ring behind the seated vampires. Matthew was the one exception as Elektra had dragged him into the seat beside her. 

The hostess, the woman who had hugged Elektra when they first arrived, gestured to the humans from her seat at the head of the table, “Pets, if you would.”

At that, each human outstretched their arm to a respective glass and made a deep slash to their wrist. The blood flowed and dropped into the waiting crystal, filling it like rich red wine.

“Elektra,” The hostess spoke again after the first course of food had come out, “Darling, forgive me, would you prefer the one you brought with you?”

Matthew shifted in his seat to look at Elektra. If he had to guess, he would say her face might have had a look of amusement on it.

“Oh no, he’s not mine” she finally responded, after taking a sip from her full glass. “He’s Stick’s boy. I just brought him out for the night.”

The hostess gasped redirecting her words at Matthew, “I knew I recognized you from somewhere! So tell me, how is the old man doing these days?”

“He’s doing well, still a cranky old man,” Matthew answered politely as the next course, a steak bloody rare, was set down before him.

The rest of the party passed on just like that, small talk about small things as the vampires sipped their glasses. When they ran empty, their designated human would slit their wrist again with shaking hands.

**…**

The night breeze was a cool relief on Matthew’s face when he was finally free of that hellish house. He knew exactly why Stick never had parties like that. They were obscene and cruel. But as Elektra hung onto his arm on their way back to the safe house, she seemed content, placid even. Matthew began to rethink his thoughts towards her. Stick may be a hardass and a vampire but at least he wasn’t interested in displays like that. He wasn’t apologetic about killing humans to feed, but he did it humanly, rather than as the spectacle of the evening. In the past, Matthew had been able to stomach the thought of events like that but now that he had attended one it left him… unnerved.

“You seem tense,” Electra interjected, cutting off his train of thought.

“I’m fine,” He answered kurtly.

“You didn’t like the party?” She asked with mock sweetness.

“You seemed to be enjoying it enough for the both of us.”

She made a noncommittal hum, “You live your life serving a vampire and living among us yet you can’t stomach sitting at a table with us.”

“Working for Stick is a job… a duty. I’m still a human when I work for him, parties like that seem…”

“Monstrous?” she offered. “To tell you the truth, that’s not my cup of tea either.” 

They walked in silence for a few blocks before something caused Elektra to perk up. She abruptly changed directions and jerked him down a side street. He guessed it was less of a street and more of a narrow alley based on the way the sound bounced off the walls of the buildings. Elektra untangled her arm from Matthew’s and let her shawl fall to the ground. When she sprang from the ground her movements were noiseless, but as she landed on a lip in the stone work of one of the alley walls more than 10 feet off the ground she purposefully landed hard, making plenty of noise. 

“Let’s have some fun. Can you follow me?” She asked.

Matthew nodded but before he could raise any protests or ask any questions she was off leaping to another perch. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned the vest he was wearing. It had been awhile since he had had any need to scale any buildings like this or run along roof tops. His movements were clumsy and awkward at first as he struggled to keep up. Once they made it to the flatter ground of the rooftops Matthew settled into an easy pattern of listening for Elektra, finding her, and moving to catch up. They had traveled a few blocks before she finally came to a stop overlooking the edge of a building.

“Why... why did we stop?” Matthew asked, panting slightly at the impromptu exercise.

“Down below is a man named Marcus” Elektra began, looking down the few stories to the city street. “he was one of our fellow party guests. He likes to take young and pretty human girls from their homes and sell them to anyone willing to pay his price.”

Matthew startled at that information, “How do you know that?”

“He was more than happy to tell me at the party,” Elektra answered. “And I think a man like that shouldn’t be allowed to go on doing those sorts of things.”

The words she was speaking were enough to make his blood boil and the dark, sultry tone of her voice and the actions it was suggesting were enough to arouse his own desire for action. 

“And what, do you suggest we do about it?”

She paused for a moment before stating, “There’s a stairway to the alley on the next building over. Meet me down there, don’t make your move until I give you the signal.”

With that she leapt from the building and Matthew could barely hear her land, quiet as a cat, five stories below. He kept his hearing trained to Elektra’s quite movements below as he stalked towards Marcus, but he also began to navigate to the alley floor. He perched himself on the ledge of a second story window and waited as he could now hear two sets of footsteps walking towards the alley. Just like before every fight and sparring match Matthew had in Stick’s arena, every muscle in his body was coiled tight like a spring. It was fight or flight and he knew he had to fight. The idle chatter of the vampire pair came to a crashing halt as the sound of the heel of Elektra’s boot colliding with something fleshy and boney, most likely a cheek bone, popped through the night air. All the energy in Matthew’s body liquidated and came full force as he sprang into the beginning fight. It was short lived though, no sooner than he had found his rhythm in the swigs and jabs of Marcus’ punches that Elektra swept Marcus’ feet out from under him. Matthew jumped on top of him, pinning the vampire to the ground with his body weight.

“The girls,” Matthew questioned. “Where do you keep them.”

“I won’t,” Marcus gasped “I can’t tell you.”

The response was met with a few more blows to the face, Matthew’s knuckles landing hard. He felt the pop of cartilage as Marcus’ nose broke.

“Again, where are the girls?” Elektra asked this time.

“I can’t tell you” Marcus gasped and subsequently flinched as Matthew raised his fist again. “Wait! Wait, I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I sold them, all of the girls I had, two weeks ago.”

“Then I guess we can just tie you up on a roof and leave you for the sunrise.” Elektra taunted.

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Matthew agreed.

“I can tell you who I sold them to! And I have a guess where they’re being kept too.” Marcus took a moment to spit out a mouthful of blood. “It was a man in downtown, called himself James, he was a human. He had the girls delivered to a warehouse on 19th street. They might still be there.”

“That’s a good start, Matthew if you would?”

She didn’t need to ask twice. Matthew grabbed Marcus by his shirt collar and lifted his head and chest up off the pavement just enough to slam him back down. He did it two more times before Marcus’ eyes had snapped shut and his body went limp under Matthew’s.

“If he doesn’t wake before the sun comes up I wouldn’t feel too badly about it,” Elektra said as Matthew got to his feet.

Matthew only grinned in response, “Let’s go get those girls.”

“I’ll lead the way,” Elektra laughed as she took off, back to the roof tops.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the smell of blood that often bothered Matthew the most. Tangy and coppery, it wafted through the air and lazily about his nose like it had no better place to be. He was sure if he still had his sight actually seeing the carnage might have been a bit more unsettling to him. He was sure the sight of the pools of blood he walked through and dismembered bodies Elektra left in her wake would have set off an inescapable warning sirens in his human mind. As it was though, the thud of dead flesh falling to the ground and feeling tacky blood drying on his skin were muted discomforts to the smell of blood clouding his nose.

“You look good like this,” Elektra said, gingerly placing her hand on his blood streaked face.

“Did you just drop a body in here?” Matthew asked, sitting up from the covers of his bed.

“Darling, playing dumb doesn’t suit you.” She replied, crawling into bed with him and coaxing him awake by rubbing his shoulder. “I was just having a bit of a snack before we go out tonight.”

He was relaxing into her touch, but at her last comment he shook her off and got out of bed. He made his way to the water pitcher and basin in the corner of the room. The two of them had spent the last few weeks out every night running errands for Stick. These weren’t the innocent or only slightly dubious tasks of his youth though. Since Elektra had come to town he had spent his nights drenched in blood fighting, tracking or eliminating some of Stick’s more loud and notorious rivals. It was exhausting and exhilarating for Matthew. In the moment, fighting and stalking through the city next to Elektra felt like what he was meant to be doing; it felt right and just. But for just as much as his nights excited him, they drained his body and wore on his mind. There were many mornings he woke like this, covered in the previous night’s grime and gore, too tired to clean himself up before he collapsed into sleep.

“I just wish you wouldn’t kill a man in my room like that.” He said after cleaning his skin.

“Don’t worry darling, he isn’t dead. Well, not yet at least.” She walked over and took the damp cloth from his hands and set to wiping any gore he missed. “It wouldn’t bother you so much if you asked Stick to turn you.”

He stiffened at that, “You’re not going to start that again are you?”

“Look Matthew,” She began, “You’re a human living among vampires, living almost as a vampire. Would it really be so hard to-”

“We are not talking about this again.”

“Fine, meet me in the foyer when you’re ready.” She threw the rag down and made her way to the door. “But don’t be surprised when one day your human body can’t keep up.”

**…**

There was an emerging coven on the docks of the East Side. Tonight was a long and uneventful exercise in scouting. Stick wasn’t always opposed to new or neighboring covens, but he needed to know if this one was going to be a problem. And in the coming weeks if it was decided that they couldn’t be controlled or trusted it would be Matthew and Elektra’s job to eliminate them. They had both decided weeks ago that wouldn’t be a challenging job if it came to that. The group was only a dozen young vampires; they had become jaded with their old masters and they were in the disposition of vulnerability. They had broken off before they had time to truly learn to care for themselves and excel in the art of being a vampire. Matthew doubted this situation would need to come to violence though. From the intelligence he and Elektra had gathered they broke from their old masters due to disagreements on their original coven’s distasteful treatment of humans. The outlines Stick had for neighboring covens were simple: no excessive killing of humans, no drawing unnecessary attention, and no hostile action towards their coven. From everything Matthew had seen so far it didn’t appear this coven would have a problem with those rules. 

“Come on darling, I think we’ve done enough watching for tonight,” Elektra prompted when the sky had just begun to pale with the light of impending dawn.

Matthew yawned and stretched out his sore limbs, “I thought we’d seen enough when they went to sleep an hour ago.”

“The ones you have to look out for are those who sneak out in the hours before dawn after the rest of the coven has gone to bed.” She stood herself and offered Matthew a hand up. “The hour of predawn was always my favorite time for mischief.”

“Hummm, well then what do your early hours activites say about you?” Matthew mused playfully.

“Nothing you don’t already know,” She leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Race you back to the safe house!”

With that she darted off the roof, plummeting into the darkness below. Matthew scrambled to a start, electing to stay on top of the skyline and run from roof to roof. He had traveled halfway across the island from scaling fire escapes and balconies when he lost track of Elektra’s movements. He hadn’t expected to beat her back, but he certainly had been getting faster. He had made it more than halfway back before he began to lose steam and she pulled forward with her inhuman agility. Matthew allowed himself to slow from a sprint, to a jog, and finally making his way back to the ground at a leisurely walk. He wasn’t racing time to hide from the sun in a thick curtained and shut up house, he could afford to walk.

The sun was just beginning to peak it’s rosy fingers over the horizon when Matthew realized just where he had wandered into. The smell from the bakeries, restaurants, and factories were all the same as he remembered from his childhood. He had found his way into Hell’s Kitchen. Of course he had come here on a number of occasions since he went to live with Stick, but this was the first time it wasn’t on an errand or mission with Elektra. He rarely had free time to begin with, let alone stroll about Manhattan by himself. And something about the early morning made his senses sing. He could hear the toll of the early morning church bells coming from the same church his father used to take him to. They called to him and he found himself answering the call, making his way to the building and going inside.

The world always felt a bit muted inside a church. Time slowed to a crawl and the cool air clung sticky to his skin. It threw Matthew off his balance in a way that was somewhere in between taking a blow to the head and getting the wind knocked out of his chest. When he had first been blinded and was just learning to see the world again in a new way, he used to think this feeling was the presence of God. The power of the Almighty interacting with him in his heightened senses in a way that was his and his alone. Now he stood before the altar a grown man with years of serving demons with his body and blood blackening his soul. He still thought the bewilderment might be an act of God, but if it was, the intent was anything but altruistic.

“Are you here for confession son?” A male voice called out from behind him.

He spun around in a mild panic. How had he not heard the man approaching? As he listened in now the man was obviously human, and more than likely the priest of this church.

“Sorry son, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The priest spoke again. “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Father Murphy.”

“Ahhh no, I used to come to this church with my father. Father Moore was the priest here then.” 

“Oh that must have been a long time ago then, I don’t think I’ve heard that name. What brings you here this morning?”

“I uh… felt a calling.” Matthew still felt a little off balance from Father Murphy sneaking up on him, the muted feeling from the church enveloping him further into its haze.

“Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Maybe you’re here for a reason.”

Matthew scoffed at that, “Father I haven’t been in a church for a long time. It’s been even longer since I’ve been a worthy child of God.”

“If you felt a calling here that might be a sign, God calling you back to the flock.” Father Murphy countered.

He paused for a moment at that. His love for God had never disappeared in all his time living amongst vampires. It faded and waned with time, but never disappeared and his fear and respect had aged similarly. 

“In my homeland there used to be a story they whispered around the cooking fires. ‘Watch out for those Murdock boys who live in the next village over. They got the Devil in them.’ It wasn’t until we came here that I learned what they meant. I lead a troubling life Father, I got the Devil in me. I don’t think I can be welcomed back to the flock.”

“The Devil was and still is an angel, even he is still in God’s love.” Father Murphy offered. He took a tentative step forward and put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome here son.”

The sun had climbed its way halfway up the sky by the time Matthew made his way back to the safe house. No noise to be heard as all the vampires slept the day away in the darkness. He had been mulling over his conversation with Father Murphy on the walk back. The sight of Elektra peacefully sleeping in his bed, waiting for him, and the longing seeing her sparked in him made him realize something.   
If he could love and be loved by a monster, he didn’t  _ deserve _ to be in God’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so here's some explanation to something no one is asking about, but I grew up reallllllyyyyy catholic. so i have a lot of love for matt's character bc I relate to him in those aspects about guilt and shame over certain things that are integral to you as a person. so if you read the tags you'll see there's gonna be a lot more guilt coming. (But don't worry, Matt gets a hug in the end)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this work isn't tagged for matt's death bc its like vampire undeath sorta thing but if major character death bothers you and can skip to a little past half way through.

On the last day of Matthew Murdock’s life the sun dawned across the horizon no different than any other day. It rose lazily into the sky, sprawling out it’s light onto the world. It was indifferent to his numbered heart beats and took no heed to the dwindling number of breaths he drew into his fragile human lungs. He breathed peacefully, asleep and unaware this would be the last morning his heat flushed form would warm Elektra at his side in their shared bed. Both of them carried on dreaming as a nightmare crept into their home.

The crash of commotion and muted shrieks of the dying jolted Matthew from his peace. He had just retired to bed an hour or so before, weary and worn from a night of action. At his side Elektra still slept unperturbed, decades of her vampire nature compelling her to sleep during the day in a way his sleep cycle did not. Of course, she could be woken, but it required far more comotion than he did. Matthew trained his ears to look for the cause of his waking, trying to gauge if he ought to disturb her sleep as well. He heard nothing for several long minutes, almost succumbing back to the cozy draw of his pillow, but then he heard it. The quickest, almost instantaneous chain of noises. The tiniest click followed by a nearly silent  _ whoosh _ and finished by the dying cry of a vampire.

Crossbows. 

“Hunters,” he scarcely breathed. 

The Hunters of Manhattan had always seemed to have been of little consequence when Matthew had encountered them in the past. They picked off stray vampires here and there, targeting those without covens or those who were weak and wondered into the wrong place at the wrong time. The Hunters he knew of were poorly organized, individuals or small groups with poor or no training and ill devised weapons. An attack of this scale, one on a well establish and powerful coven, was unheard of in Manhattan. He had heard stories from Stick of run ins with Hunters from the old world. Generations old traditions passed through family and communal lines making them terrifyingly effective.  

In his sleep addled brain a sudden thought shocked him into full wakefulness: if he immigrated from the old world what was to stop these Hunters from doing the same?

“Elektra, Elektra get up,” he whispered panickedly, shaking her shoulder harshly.

She groaned and rolled to face him, “Matthew, what’s so important it can’t wait till this evening?”

Another sequence of  _ click, whoosh,  _ death cry echoed in his ears. They were moving closer.

“You need to get up, they’re coming and we’ll have to fight.”

All of the items he needed to grab were too far away. Matthew sprang out of bed as silently as he could, grabbing the closest weapon, a baton, and moving towards his wardrobe to get his armored shirt. He had succeeded in putting himself infinitely closer to the door when he heard the approach of foot steps and their subsequent pause outside his door. The metal of the door handle betrayed a soft groan as a hand was placed on it. With no time for anything else, he leapt to the side of the door frame, baton at the ready. The hinges creaked open the slightest bit and he kicked it the rest of the way. The Hunter fell forward with the door, their grip on the knob dragging them to the ground. Matthew plunged on top of them, pinning their body to the ground with his weight. The two grappled and struggled just long enough for him to wrestle the crossbow out of the Hunter’s hands and pin those to the ground as well.

“You!” the Hunter spit out. “Antonio insisted you were fit for saving, but I knew you were nothing more than a pet to these monsters.”

“I protect what is mine,” he bit back.

“Don’t you see the scars on your neck? What love do they have for prey like you?” The voice was feminine and accented with Italian, but dripping with rage.

By this time Elektra had fully risen. She stormed across the room and pulled the woman from under Matthew’s grip. She slammed the Hunter against the wall, lifting her by her neck so only her toes strained to hold up her weight.

“You might think him a pet,” Elektra purred, her voice deadly as a blade, “but at least we don’t kill our prey like cowards in the day.”

The Hunter choked up something like laughter. “Then he… can die like a dog!”

Quicker than Matthew had ever felt another human move, the Hunter pulled a blade from her belt and threw it. He had only a fraction of a second to hear it ringing in the air before it planted itself into his chest. 

For the first time since he lost his sight the world went quiet for Matthew. No external input from his ears, nose, or touch. His whole being welling up around the hot, wet pressure in his chest. He brought his hands up to the knife, the cuts it caused on his fingers going unnoticed as he pulled it from his body. The metal clattered to the floor as he dropped to his knees. A soft body pressed up against him, holding him up so he couldn’t completely collapse to the ground.

“Matthew, please no,” Elektra’s voice came into focus at his neck.

The slip of her teeth into his neck was dull and her pulls, drinking him in, was almost pleasurable. She stopped too soon, no other feeding had ever been so short. Why was she stopping? His train of thought was interrupted at the painful, wet cough that sputtered out of his mouth. Hot and thick blood bubbled over his lips and once he started coughing he couldn’t stop. His lungs ached and throat burned. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why couldn’t he breathe? He was gasping for air in between his coughs when something was shoved into his mouth. More liquid ran down his throat and he choked around it as well. He fought to cough and splutter around the thing in his mouth, but it held firm. His head was feeling lighter, he needed to breathe. He felt his thoughts beginning to dim and flicker until he fell back into oblivion.

…

Waking from oblivion hadn’t been as easy as falling into it. 

Matthew jerked up right, tearing at the bed covers that restrained his body. Everything was too much. He thought he could see the world before, but now, now something was different. Even the quietest sounds could be heard, the faintest smells found, the tiniest vibrations sensed. He knew exactly everything about his surroundings. From the rough cotton sheets he still lay tangled in, to Elektra and Stick standing so serently at the foot of his bed he was suddenly aware.

Aware of the fast, bird-like heart pounding away in the far corner.

Aware that in his own chest, that chamber lay still.

“Matthew,” Stick’s voice blared in his ears, “I’ve waited to see this moment for a long time.”

“You, you made me like this,” his words hissed hotly over his lips. “I didn’t want-”

“No darling,” Elektra crooned. “I did, you were dying, and I- I just couldn’t bear it.”

It was all too much. Everything was too much. 

His rage boiled inside him and the heart beat in the corner kept thudding. 

The earnest love in Elektra’s voice pulled at the pit of his stomach and the heart beat in the corner kept thudding.

The bright pops of sound and smell kept flashing behind his eyes and the heart beat in the corner  _ kept thudding _ .

“Jeez kid, lighten up,” Stick offered. “We saved you something from the raid yesterday.”

His body perked up at that. The heart beat. It was for him. Warm and alive. He allowed himself to be helped out of bed, but needed no help finding the source. In his eagerness he stumbled over his own feet. No matter, the prey was on the ground and so was he now. He put one hand on the body so full of life, landing it on the shoulder. So close to the neck, so hot it nearly scorched his hand.

But then, she let out a sharp cry. Muffled behind a gag, but unmistakably fearful.

Elektra slid down beside him, “What’s the matter darling? Isn’t she delicious?”

“She’s just, a scared girl,” Matthew panted with his restraint.

“She’s the one who killed you,” Elektra took his face in her hands. “I would have killed her myself, for you- to avenge you- but Stick thought her blood would be even sweeter to you.”

“She wasn’t alone last night Matthew. Her and her people killed too many of our family, do you not want to avenge them along with yourself?”

Elektra released his face to allow him to look over her with his sightless eyes. She had to be young, her body too small to be fully grown. He reached out to put a hand on her face, an unexplainable desire to see if her skin felt as lovely as she smelled. But Elektra beat him to it. Her nails sliced across the girl’s cheek, down her jaw, to her neck. Blood welled up, past the skin and dripped out into the air. The smell hit Matthew like a train, wrecking his resolve.

He learned in and bit, drinking deeply from her ripped out throat. Elektra massaged the back of his neck as Stick stood above and watched.

“That’s it boy, this is what I trained you for. This is what you were made for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for all the love and kudos! I forgot how much I really loved the story I had planned here so if you'll stick with me i still have a lot more to write.


	6. Chapter 6

The body hit the wooden floor with a satisfyingly heavy thud. The smack of dead weight reverberating throughout the cobbler’s shop signaled the end of Matthew’s mission. The rise and reign of the old world hunters in Manhattan had been short and ended just as concisely. After that first night, Matthew had been tasked by Stick to lead the effort to eliminate them. Word had gotten out about the attack on  their coven and many other vampire groups across New York city had jumped at the chance to proactively defend themselves by working alongside Matthew. And in a city as large as New York with a human population big enough to support and feed a vampire population larger than any city in the old world the Hunter’s didn’t stand much of a chance. They were rootless in a forest of predators. 

Sunlight streamed down in the mid summer heat as Matthew exited the shop. It seeped into his hair and shirt, warming him with it’s light. One of the finer things he had come to enjoy since his change was the warmth from the sun light. Second only to body heat from a human, it wrapped him in a soft glow and he reveled in every moment. His blindness served him better now as a vampire than it ever had as a distraction tool when he was human. Stick had told him once, when he was just a boy, that vampire’s vision was too keen to be out in the day, sunlight making it too intense. It left them to hunt and live in the night when their prey was fewer and far in between. But Matthew had no such restriction, he heard and felt everything with no regard to the sun. He was the perfect predator strolling down a crowded street.

Sleep was of course still a necessity, and Matthew could choose to sleep at night if he wanted. Usually though he kept normal vampire hours, sleeping through most of the day and being active in the night hours. Those were the hours Elektra kept, and the rest of the coven, so he would hate to miss out on his time with her for petty things like prowling during the day. No, he only chose to deviate from that schedule when there were special tasks that required his special talents. Eliminating the Hunters had been one such activity, posing as a human to catch them off guard had been the most useful weapon in his arsenal. Matthew had started with the remaining Italians that had initially attacked them, then moved to the Chinese, Japanese, French, and every other family in every neighborhood they could find. The cobbler’s family had been German and now, with them eliminated the last known old world Hunters were gone. 

Matters could return to some semblance of normal now. Like how Matthew slipped between the covers of his bed to nestle up against Elektra when he made his way back to their safe house. It was only noon, he still had time to catch a few hours sleep before their evening took off. When he slept now it was dreamless. Sleeping was a time warp, one moment he laid his head down to the pillow and the next he was rising at the same time as Elektra. His bodily instincts whispering to his mind that it was sun set.

“Did you take care of them?” Elektra purred, wrapping her body around his.

Matthew yawned and stretched his arms out, landing them on her torso, “Yes, I don’t think the wife knew. She acted like she had never seen a vampire before. He must have married her and never told her he was a Hunter.”

“Matthew, you know you have to kill them all. Hunters are familial, if you hadn’t killed that man’s children he would have raised them to be Hunters too.”

“I know, I know,” Matthew said, leaning in for a kiss. “Maybe I just need something to take my mind off my terrible guilt.” He nipped playfully at her jawline.

“Mmmmm, you have been such a good boy,” Elektra breathed as Matthew mouthed his way down her neck, “I suppose you deserve a reward for all your hard work.”

Elektra wrapped her legs around Matthew’s waist and used her body weight to flip them so she sat straddling his hips. She pinned his shoulders down with her hands and leaned down to suck-bite-lick-kiss her way down his bare chest.

“You know what I think I like best about you now?” she purred again when she made it to the waistband of his trousers.

“I’ll bite you back now?” Matthew nearly panted.

“Humm, yes that is nice,” She mused, her breath ghosting over his skin, “But what’s better is that I don’t have to be gentle with you anymore.”

Matthew laughed, “You were never gentle with me before.”

Elektra smirked as she dragged the fabric of his trousers lower. Matthew was about to learn just how wrong he was.

**…**

That evening they needed to check back up on the coven on the East Side docks. A few months ago, shortly after Matthew had become a vampire, he and Elektra had visited them to give them Stick’s accords and conditional permission to exist in the city. They had accepted them without much fuss, but now it seemed the situation had evolved so they needed a check up.

“Elektra! Matthew!” Mina, a thin and shaky looking girl called as they walked into the back alley of the warehouse her group lived in. “Congratulations on your work on getting rid of the Hunters.”

“Yes, Matthew can be quite the crusader when he puts his mind to it,” Elektra agreed.

“What brings you here this evening?” She asked, cutting through pleasantries.

Matthew had began to prowl at this point, uninterested in Elektra and Mina’s small talk. Because that’s what it was, small. Matthew knew the big picture of why they were here this evening. Part of Stick’s condition’s for living in his city was that vampires were not to draw too much attention to themselves. For vampires to flourish they needed anonymity, and with a vampire population as large as Manhattan had there was no room for mistakes lest the whole species be revealed. There had been hints of betrayal to that anonymity on the wind from this coven. There were whispers and rumors just loud enough for Matthew and a few more keen vampires to hear. If he could find it, that means it was only a matter of time before the information became more wildly know, namely that humans heard it’s echoes.

The sin they had committed wasn’t exactly a grave one, it was in the execution of their actions that made it a violation. This small rag tag group squatting on the docks of the East Side had decided to keep humans. Stick had done the same thing with him, and other covens had their pets as well, but what made this particular group dangerous was how ill equipped they were for exposure to humans and the sheer number of humans kept. Madame Gao’s coven kept nearly 3 dozen humans, but she was ancient and knowledgeable enough to rule with an iron fist with no chance for them to expose her. This coven was only a dozen young vampires keeping nearly as many humans and they let them roam with almost complete freedom. It was a recipe for disaster. 

“I can’t let you go in there,” Mina interjected in the middle of his hunt.

Matthew recoiled at that, “And why is that?”

There had been a distinct vibration coming from a side door of the warehouse. Off from the main alley entrance and blending into the shadows, it was a fantastic hiding place. Matthew knew that was where they had hidden their humans when they caught wind of his and Elektra’s approach. The fact they were hiding their humans was admission enough of their guilt.

“I won’t let you kill them,” Mina stated. Matthew could hear the iron resolve in her voice to protect, but also just the smallest waiver of fear. 

She feared him.

“Who said anything about killing them?” Matthew felt his lips curl into a smile.

“I won’t pretend you’re dumb Mina dear,” Elektra said taking point on the conversation. “We all know why Matthew and I are here, but there are still options for the out come.”

The rest of the coven had trickled outside by this point. Bodies without heart beats, breathing out of habit rather than necessity, surrounded Elektra and him. The one closest to him smelt faintly like Mina. Matthew had the quick thought that she must be to Mina what Elektra was to him.

“You can hand your humans over and no blood has to be spilled,” Elektra continued on, “or we can take them as your own cost.”

“What? And let you keep them as cattle?” Mina snarled.

“I turned out fine didn’t I?” Matthew quipped.

Mina changed her posturing, flipping her direction of attack, “They are our friends, family, and lovers, I can’t let you take them from us.”

“They’re a liability,” Eletrak countered.

“You don’t betray those who you love, and they don’t betray you.”

In her boldness, Mina had taken just one too many steps towards Elektra. Responding out of instinct, Matthew inched towards the two ready to jump at the slightest movement. At that moment the woman who smelt like Mina felt the same protective urge except she used it to lunge at Matthew. There was no return from that point, the tussle between Matthew and the woman grew to include Mina, then Elektra and before anyone had a chance to calm down the whole coven was descending on the pair. The sheer numbers of the fight, a dozen against two, made Matthew pant and sweat with exhaustion, but in the end the pair of more seasoned fighters prevailed. When the dust settled Matthew was pretty sure one of his collar bones was broken, he had blood on his teeth and a couple of Mina’s coven was dead, including her lover. The rest were broken and battered, but nothing a vampire couldn’t recover from. They laid sprawled out across the back alley courtyard in varying states of consciousness and mobility. Mina herself watched as Matthew strolled over to the side door she had been protecting. She was helpless with a broken leg and had to watch as he kicked the locked door open.

“There’s no need for panic,” Elektra soothed as the humans inside let out little screams. “We’re all just going to take a little walk uptown.”

There were ten of them in total. They would take the humans back to their safe house and let Stick decide what to do with them. He might decide to keep one or two, but more than likely he’d see if he could shuffle them off to other covens. These people hadn’t done anything wrong in living with Mina’s coven, but they couldn’t be left to their own devices. If the groups Stick placed them with kept them or killed them that didn’t matter, it was only important that they were kept under control.They all filled out meekly and followed Elektra and Matthew back to the safe house.


End file.
